Opening the Archives of the International Tracing Service (ITS)

Transcription

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SHOAH: INTERVENTION. METHODS. DOCUMENTATION.
Paul A. Shapiro
Opening the Archives of the
International Tracing Service (ITS)
How did it happen? What does it mean?
Abstract
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The archives of the International Tracing Service in Bad Arolsen, Germany, contains over 50
million World War II era documents relating to the fates of over 17.5 million people. Using
samples and case studies, Paul Shapiro, who led the campaign to open the archives, will provide an insider’s view of the years-long effort to open the collections for research and discuss
the importance of this recent event for Holocaust survivors, other victims of National
Socialism, and scholars.
Paul Shapiro is Director of the Center for Advanced Holocaust Studies of the United States
Holocaust Memorial Museum. Before joining the Museum, he served in the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs at the United States Information Agency and Department of
State, where he was responsible for the Fulbright Fellowship Program and other major international exchange programs. Earlier, he was an Editor of the journal Problems of Communism and Editor in Chief of the Journal of International Affairs. Mr. Shapiro also served as a
consultant to the Board for International Broadcasting, Radio Free Europe-Radio Liberty,
and the Justice Department’s Office of Special Investigations (OSI).
I would like to thank the Vienna Wiesenthal Institute for Holocaust-Studies for
inviting me to deliver this third Simon Wiesenthal Lecture. In the 1970s, Simon
Wiesenthal and I collaborated, at long distance, in uncovering documentation that
led to the removal of citizenship and deportation from the United States of the first
fascist leader against whom the United States Justice Department took such action.
You may not remember who that was, but I will remind you later. I cannot adequately express the admiration I had for the man whose name this lecture series carries. I
am truly honoured to have been asked, and consider it a great privilege to deliver this
evening’s lecture in the one hundredth anniversary year of Simon Wiesenthal’s
birth.
Before I begin my main subject, and in memory of Simon Wiesenthal, I would like
to show you a few documents:
• a card from the Central Name Index of the International Tracing Service, indicating that Simon Wiesenthal appears on a list of prisoners at Groß-Rosen;
• and here is the list – Szymon Wizenthal is number 91, PZ, or Polish Jew, born
December 31, 1908, prisoner number 127371;
• and here a document with the list of ghettos, labour camps, prisons, and concentration camps where Simon Wiesenthal managed to survive from August 15, 1941 to
May 5, 1945;
• and here is a similar list for Mrs. Wiesenthal, Cyla – you can see that both were
from Buczacz and were sent to the Lvov ghetto the same day, but were separated just
a few weeks later;
Paul A. Shapiro: Opening the Archives of the International Tracing Service (ITS)
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• and here Mrs. Wiesenthal’s displaced person registration card, filed June 8, 1945
and signed by her, her destination of choice when she registered at Assembly Center 64, Palestine or the United States.
These are just a few of the documents in the International Tracing Service archives
that record what the Wiesenthals experienced during the Shoah. I offer these few
pages so that we all remember Simon and Cyla Wiesenthal now.
If you will permit me, I will speak for a while, and then come back to this short
excerpt from America’s most prominent television news program 60 Minutes. The
full segment was broadcast in December 2006. You can still see it in its entirety on
the 60 Minutes web site. Walter Feiden was a native of Vienna. You may be interested
in seeing his story.
Beyond professional credentials, I want to tell you something about myself. My
father’s father Louis came to the United States in 1905 from the Settlement Pale in
Czarist Russia. My grandmother, whose maiden name was Mary Berman, and two
children came with him. The family name was changed from Schaechet to Shapiro
on arrival in America. Louis and his brother Benjamin and Mary were the only
members of the Schaechet or Berman families who left Russia. My mother’s father’s
family was Sephardic. They were part of the wave of Sephardim that took refuge after
1492 in the Ottoman Empire and moved north, eventually settling in Galicia. Simcha
Kartiganer, my great-grandfather, left for America in 1900 and brought over his five
children, one by one, as he could afford to. No other Kartiganers left Europe. My
grandfather Isadore Kartiganer, married Tillie Stanger, also one of five children, in
the only part of her family that left Poland. My grandmother never learned to read or
write, and my mother wrote letters for her to the family that had stayed behind. Until
the Holocaust.
The Schaechets, the Bermans, the Kartiganers, the Stangers – all, except these few
who went to America – were murdered. The names of some Kartiganers appear in
Auschwitz labour records, but most, to the best of my knowledge, are as yet unidentified and unrecorded.
Which brings me to the archives of the International Tracing Service, or ITS –
more than 50 million pages of original documentation relating to 17.5 million people
victimized by the Nazis – including, perhaps, some Schaechets, some Bermans,
some Kartiganers, and some Stangers.
Until the end of 2007, ITS was the largest collection of inaccessible records anywhere that shed light on the fates of people from across Europe – Jews of course, and
members of virtually every other nationality as well – who were arrested, deported,
sent to concentration camps, and even murdered by the Nazis; who were put to
forced and slave labour under inhuman conditions, calculated in many places to result in death; and who were displaced from their homes and families, and unable to
return home at war’s end. These were documents that Allied forces collected as they
liberated camps and forced labour sites across Europe in the last months of the war
and during their post-war occupation and administration of Germany and Austria.
They include also the records of displaced persons camps run by the allies and records assembled by UNRRA and the International Refugee Organization after the
war. Additional thousands of collections continued to be deposited at ITS by governments, organizations and individuals right up until 2006. Sometimes they were
placed there precisely because governments knew that if they were at Bad Arolsen,
no one would ever see them.
Why in Bad Arolsen? Arolsen was in a region of Germany that was liberated early
and the town had not been heavily bombed. Arolsen housed an extensive SS training
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facility, thanks to the influence of SS-Obergruppenführer Josias, Hereditary Prince
of Waldeck and Pyrmont, who was responsible for the Weimar region of the Third
Reich and whose family’s ancestral residence was (and is) in the town. As Allied for
ces approached, of course, the SS barracks were empty and available – an appropriate
place to store documents.
It is unlikely that the people who assembled those records in the aftermath of
World War II – collecting them from camps, forced labour sites, Gestapo offices,
prisons, etc. – could have imagined that six decades later what grew to be a collection
of over 50 million Holocaust–related documents would still be hidden away in Bad
Arolsen and inaccessible to survivors or scholars. And who would believe that eleven
generally enlightened democratic governments, including the United States and
Israel, whether intentionally or unintentionally, but definitely placing a higher value
on diplomatic consensus than on human compassion or moral obligation, would be
responsible for keeping this documentation out of reach? And who would believe
that those governments and the International Committee of the Red Cross, which I
will refer to simply as the Red Cross, appeared ready sixty years later to see the last
remnant of the Holocaust survivor generation disappear without giving them access
to their records and information about their families, and without providing them
with the comfort of knowing that the documentary record of what happened to
them and to the loved ones they lost would not be conveniently kept under wraps,
“swept under the rug” as one survivor said to me, once the survivors were gone? At
first blush no one would have believed any of this, and yet this was the situation.
This evening, I want to provide a glimpse into the political struggle that was involved in opening ITS, though it is too early to tell the whole story, and then describe
the ITS collections and show you some samples. I want to provide a quick status report regarding the digital copying of the archives, the transfer of copies to the United
States Holocaust Memorial Museum, and the scholarly and educational potential of
the archives. I will close with some thoughts on the multiple layers of significance of
these archives.
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The Struggle to Open the Archives of the ITS
I first attended a meeting of the 11-country International Commission that sets
policy for ITS in Paris in May 2001, to see if I could mobilize the Commission to
honour a promise it had made in 1998 to open the archives. I had no idea then how
difficult the task would be. Yes, the documentation in the archives was massive, but
it was 50 to 60 years old. And surely the Red Cross and the governments on the Commission would understand the urgency of the matter. The timetable for the project, I
kept insisting, could not be a leisurely diplomatic timetable, nor an archivist’s timetable. The real timetable was the actuarial table of a survivor generation that tragically was already rapidly disappearing.
The International Commission was locked in debate about possible “access guidelines” that had been drafted, debated, redrafted, and debated again. The guidelines
were upsetting, to say the least: Advance application to visit the archive would be
required, with no time limit for receiving a response. No access would be granted if
ITS determined that the person did not really need to see the records. No access to
finding aids. The researcher was to pay all costs associated with staff assistance he or
she might receive, with assistance available and access provided only when the staff
was not otherwise busy. All information in the documents that related to persons,
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places or dates was to be blacked out before the researcher could see anything. Each
researcher would be required to purchase liability insurance for ITS, the Red Cross,
and the 11 governments, in case the researcher misused the records and got sued.
Such regulations, of course, were likely to ensure – and were probably calculated to
ensure – that no one would actually apply or gain access to the archives!
In addition, the countries were locked in an on-going controversy over whose
“privacy” and “archival” laws and practices would apply. Countries reluctant to open
the archives – the majority – together with ITS leadership and the Red Cross, proposed privacy regulations that included the most restrictive conditions that appeared in any of the regulations of any of the countries; that is, they were advocating
the most restrictive common denominator.
By the end of that first meeting, it was clear to me that nothing would be decided
in 2001. In spite of the urgency I tried to communicate, the Commission did not plan
any further discussion of the matter for a full year, until its next annual meeting,
scheduled for a single day in May 2002, in Berlin.
I visited ITS together with the only person in the United States State Department
who was willing to listen when I insisted that as a member state of the International
Commission we had a right to get past the front door. I was overwhelmed by six
buildings full of the documentation of transports, deportations, concentration
camps, Gestapo offices, forced and slave labour sites, burial records, displaced persons camps, resettlement files, and other records relating to millions of innocent victims of the Nazis and their allies. Not only were these archives sealed shut, but there
was a backlog of 450,000 requests for information from survivors, some of the requests ten years old, with no evident sense of urgency to respond. That visit was a
powerful experience. I knew right away that for me there could be no turning away
or turning back. But what to do?
I reasoned that the governments needed to have a clear idea of what was in the
archives if they were going to be moved to act – as I had been by my one-day visit to
ITS. For diplomats who thought about ITS just once a year, and who served on the
International Commission for just a year or two, in the absence of reliable information the safest course would always be to do nothing.
But my requests for information regarding the collections met a stonewall. My
suggestion to bring in professional archivists and historians to help was also refused.
I soon came to understand that the denial of information regarding the contents of
the collections was part of a carefully devised strategy to prevent action. At the May
2002 meeting of the International Commission, in Berlin, the Chair (Germany in
that year) and the ITS Director made it clear that information about the collections
was “restricted,” and that my request was “inappropriate.” Information would be
shared only on the basis of a unanimous request by all the Commission countries,
and the Chair assured me, before cutting off discussion and adjourning the meeting,
that unanimity would not be achieved because the chair, Germany, was opposed.
The other countries on the International Commission were reluctant to press the
issue. Some were simply uninterested, and some had been led, behind the scenes, to
believe that if they supported the request for a list of collections, ITS would further
slow down the already problematic flow of information to survivors in their countries – in the midst of the already hopelessly back-logged processing of claims under
recent slave labour settlements. When I asked which countries had enough information to describe the collections to the others, no one responded. When I asked which
countries wanted more information, the response again was silence. I was not permitted a third question. When I told one German Foreign Ministry official after the
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meeting that this issue would go away, he warned me that Germany would delay
action for years by using the issue of privacy to stimulate conflicts of legal interpretation among Commission members.
Still, I hoped that providing a clear sense of the archive’s powerful contents would
convince the governments and the ICRC that they had a moral obligation to act, and
act sooner rather than later.
This approach – so logical from my perspective – regrettably did not produce
results, at least not in the International Commission. The ITS Director and the Red
Cross maintained right until the end that no list of ITS archival collections had ever
been assembled – something we were to learn later was simply a lie. And the State
Department, out of deference to diplomatic consensus and not anxious to add another problem to already troubled relations with our European allies, for a long time
would not agree even to ask officially on behalf of the United States for information
about the collections.
Assembling information about the contents of the ITS archive thus required a significant research effort. Fortunately, my staff in Washington was up to the challenge.
We located a four-volume inventory produced by the Allied High Commission for
Germany when it turned the records assembled between the end of the war and 1955
over to the Red Cross in 1955. And we located lists of many of the collections that had
been deposited at Bad Arolsen for 50 years after 1955 by governments, organizations,
and even private individuals.
But the stalemate persisted. The International Commission met for half a day in
Athens in 2003 … and adjourned, leaving the next discussion for the following year!
I spent much of that year pressing for a more aggressive American diplomatic
stance. I was accused on more than one occasion of wanting to “toss a bomb onto the
negotiating table.” Sadly, when the State Department prepared for the meeting of the
International Commission scheduled for Jerusalem in May 2004 – thus three years
had already passed – its approach was to hope that someone else would press this
issue. The Department’s instructions for Jerusalem were issued the same weekend
that the new World War II Memorial was dedicated in Washington. I sent a not very
diplomatic message to the Office of the Ambassador for Holocaust Affairs in the
State Department, expressing my judgment that the American failure to act decisively regarding ITS was:
“[…] cementing the place of our own country as part of the problem rather than
part of the solution […] In the face of a dying generation of World War II vet[eran]s,”
I wrote, “the United States [has] opened the earth and dedicates a granite monument
this weekend. In the face of a dying generation of Holocaust survivors, who suffered
the full fury of the Nazis and their allies, we are unable to express a bold and compassionate idea to lay open a pile of paper that tells their story. [… N]o one will understand our willingness to accept the status quo […] We would not accept our own
inaction from [others…] This will not be a chapter of Holocaust history we will be
happy to teach to future generations of Americans.”
I was not the most popular person in Washington the following week.
By this time, I had enlisted the support of organizations I was sure would carry
some weight with the International Commission. The President of the American
Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors, Ben Meed, a survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto, wrote a strongly worded letter to the Commission demanding open access. “What
is the matter with them? Have they no heart?” he said to me. The President of the
German Studies Association of the United States, Henry Friedlander, a child survivor of the Lodz ghetto, also wrote, criticizing the Commission for planning an access
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regime “so severely restrictive […] that in effect the […] Commission is serving notice that […] its intention is to block rather than to provide access.” Neither president,
neither survivor, ever received a response. Tragically Ben Meed, like the vast majority of the survivor generation he represented, passed away before he could witness
the actual opening of the archives.
Looking for an international audience that might share my concern, I raised the
Bad Arolsen issue with the then 20-member-country International Task Force on
Holocaust Education, Remembrance and Research, which met in Washington in
December 2003. [The Task Force has just concluded its first meetings under Austrian
chairmanship here in Vienna this week, by the way.] My raising the topic in December 2003 was labelled, again, “inappropriate” by the American chair, [I began to
think that inappropriate might be my middle name.] but the Task Force’s Executive
Secretary was open to the idea of my doing a briefing at the next Task Force meeting,
in Rome, in June 2004. This was an opportunity to place the matter before a large
group of people, including archivists, scholars and educators, who were committed
to addressing Holocaust issues. Moreover, 9 of the 11 countries on the International
Commission of ITS were members of the Task Force. They were formally committed, through the Stockholm Declaration of 2000, to the principle of open access to
Holocaust-related archives. Could they be committed to open access as members of
the Task Force, and continue to obstruct access in the ITS International Commission? This was an angle worth pursuing.
I prepared a “White Paper” for the Rome meeting of the Task Force. The paper addressed what I saw as the key issues and obstacles to effective action regarding the
ITS archives. I described the contents of the archive, based on the information we
had assembled at the Museum. I addressed the systematic evasion of responsibility
for decision-making made possible by the complex set of relationships among the
International Commission, the German Ministry of Interior which funded ITS,
ITS’s on-site leadership, and the Red Cross. I revealed, for the first time publicly, the
massive backlog – 450,000 unanswered inquiries – that existed in responding to requests from aging survivors and the inaccurate responses survivors often received if
they ever received a reply. I proposed a set of concrete actions. The US Holocaust
ambassador at the Task Force meeting disavowed the White Paper because it had not
been – and frankly would not have been – cleared in advance. But meeting participants picked up 150 copies the first day of the meeting, and more the next day. On the
final day a unanimous resolution was passed – all 20 countries – calling for the
immediate opening of the ITS archives!
The ITS International Commission met in Jerusalem just a few days before the
Task Force meeting. Seeking to pre-empt Task Force action, the Commission issued
a press release promising to open the archives by the end of that year – 2004. But
predictably no action followed.
Some Task Force members organized a group visit to Bad Arolsen. They experienced first-hand the “closed-door, share no information” policy of that time, and I
gained some allies. When representatives of the Red Cross and the ITS Director were
invited to the next meeting of the Task Force in December 2004, they appeared, but
refused to answer any questions about the access issue. A second unanimous Task
Force resolution was issued and released to the press, and then a third, in mid-2005.
I could feel the balance finally beginning to shift, and decided to increase the pressure in a measured way. With my encouragement, on May 9, 2005, just before the
2005 annual meeting of the ITS International Commission, a synagogue colleague
of mine who is a former investigative reporter for United Press International, pubPaul A. Shapiro: Opening the Archives of the International Tracing Service (ITS)
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lished an article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune entitled “Pressure Mounts to Open
Holocaust Records”. His article included comments by Elie Wiesel, our Museum’s
founding Chairman, and other outraged Holocaust survivors. The article appeared
in McClatchy News Service, not exactly the New York Times, but it appeared online
also and was reported on abroad. This was not a devastating media exposé. But more
like a distant bark to indicate that there might be a dog that bites somewhere ahead.
Simultaneously, on May 19, Die Zeit, one of Germany’s most influential news
papers, published a full-page article by Frank-Uwe Betz, with whom I had been corresponding, entitled Das andere Mahnmal (The Other Memorial). Betz blasted ITS’s
operation as “an anachronism, a bureaucratic dinosaur” and identified the ITS archives, with its 17.5 million victim names, as a Holocaust memorial that was at least
as important as the “anonymous” memorial that was about to be dedicated in the
heart of Berlin to the memory of Europe’s murdered Jews. My hope, of course, was to
signal that the new Berlin memorial, in which the German government had invested
so heavily both financially and symbolically, might open amid controversy. Die Zeit
reinforced Betz’s article with a lead editorial that labelled the International Commission’s failure to act an “enduring scandal”.
Very undiplomatic. But the effect could be seen almost immediately.
Two weeks later, the ITS International Commission met in Rome under Italian
Chairmanship. Members complained bitterly about the fact that the Commission’s
business was being subjected to public scrutiny. But there was also a growing realization that the issue of the ITS archives was not going to go away. Vehement, irritated
discussion, almost shouting, punctuated by unscheduled recesses to allow tempers
to cool, focused on recognition that the Commission would have to announce something! – but what? After all, it had promised action in 2004 and done nothing, so
empty promises were unlikely to buy more time. Three countries – Germany, Italy,
and Belgium – supported by the Red Cross and the ITS Director, insisted that no
decision could be taken without unanimity, and they made it clear that they would
not join what seemed to be an emerging, though reluctant, majority view that it was
time to actually do something.
My proposal to the American delegation (I did not attend) to seek agreement to
making digital copies of ITS records available at other research sites, was rejected by
the US delegation as too hot to deal with. Even a suggestion to create a committee of
specialists to provide expert input generated controversy. The Chair refused to call a
vote, announcing that he would not consider a majority decision “legitimate.” But
some delegates became angered by the attempt of a shrinking minority to “abuse the
consensus principle” to dictate inaction. When one delegate alleged that deciding
anything by majority vote would violate the principles of democracy, the represen
tative of Greece stepped in to remind the group, from democracy’s birthplace, that
voting stood at the very heart of democracy.
The Chair tried to adjourn the meeting until the following year, before a vote
could be taken, but was unsuccessful. The majority then voted to establish an experts’ working group. While the Chair continued to assert that the vote was illegitimate, France offered to chair the working group. The Director of ITS and the Red
Cross liaison for ITS refused to cooperate productively with the working group, but
the die was cast.
It was not easy to make real progress. At first it was necessary to beat back heavyhanded efforts to derail the working group from its purpose. Could I really want it to
be revealed publicly that someone’s grandfather was a homosexual? I responded by
asking whether the question was not itself an indication of a continuation of the
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homophobia that had characterized the Nazi regime. Could I really want it to be
known that some Jews “collaborated” with the Nazis in camps and ghettos? I responded by pointing out that it was well known that Jews were placed in impossible
situations by their murderers, and sometimes committed acts to attempt to save their
own lives which we, in hindsight, might question, but that there was no question
who the real perpetrators were during the Shoah, and that any effort to transform the
victims into perpetrators represented, in my view, a tendency toward Holocaust trivialization and Holocaust denial. What right did anyone but Germany have to the ITS
documents? Their original provenance was German, and provenance usually determines ownership in the archival world. I responded that insofar as I had been able to
determine, at least half of the documents in ITS were of allied provenance dating
from the post-war period; second, that there was a historical reason that the documents were not German property, since they were captured following the defeat of
the country of provenance after it had unleashed a genocidal war of aggression; and
third, that the claim to ownership of the documents represented the first time, so far
as I knew, that a representative of the Federal Republic in any forum had based a
claim of privileged status on a claim of his government’s direct descent from the
Third Reich. I was chastised for being so “inappropriate,” but progress followed.
Between June 2005 and May 2006, it became possible to clear away multiple
obstacles. Doing so took a major effort on each and every issue and frequent, often
tension-filled face-to-face meetings. The approach of the State Department was finally
changed thanks to the direct intervention of then Assistant Secretary of State Nicholas Burns, whose wife had family affected by the Holocaust. Under pressure, the ITS
Director finally distributed some poorly organized information about the contents of
the archives, but he kept hidden until the day he was fired the fact that ITS had actually maintained a running list in excel format of most of the collections it held.
Recognizing that the town of Bad Arolsen was hard to get to, and to ensure open
access with no risk of reversal if a government changed its mind, I pressed again for
agreement to distribute copies of the entire contents of the archives to major research
centres in other locations. After difficult negotiation, this recommendation, limited
to the member countries of the International Commission, was included in the draft
agreements finally produced by the committee of experts.
This did not mean that opposition simply faded away, however. On January 9,
2006, a hostile article appeared on the website of ITS itself. It remains unclear whether the text was the initiative solely of the ITS Director or had Red Cross authorization, but it labelled the push to open the archives “legally” and “morally” unjustifiable. Clearly more convincing was necessary.
I worked with a German documentary filmmaker who expressed interest in
doing a short television update on ITS. The result was a 15-minute segment on ITS
that was broadcast on Germany’s 60 Minutes equivalent, a program called Titel, Thesen, Temperamente (Topic, Theses, Temperaments) in March 2006. The piece was
rebroadcast repeatedly on the German ARD network and was immediately available
(and is still available) in transcript form online. It captured the resistance of the ITS
Director and contrasted to it the desire of a survivor “to know about the fate of relatives,” the anger of the leadership of the Jewish Community of Germany at being
deprived of access, and a blunt reminder on my part that “it is generally acknow
ledged that knowingly concealing the documentation of the Holocaust is a form of
Holocaust denial”. Official government notes critical of me and a few published articles critical of me and indirectly of my Museum followed. The most significant response, however, was more positive.
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One by one, the countries on the International Commission gave their support to
a final push to open the archives – France, Luxemburg, Greece, the UK, and the
Netherlands joined at this stage; Israel, Belgium, Poland and Italy only later.
In a final push, I was able to enlist the full public weight of our Museum in what
had been my rather lonely battle. The Museum issued a press release on March 7,
2006, calling on the Red Cross to shift from an obstructionist to a cooperative stance.
Powerfully worded editorials in the New York Times, the International Herald Tribune and the Washington Post, urged the countries that were still opposed to recognize the moral, humanitarian and historical imperatives surrounding the ITS issue.
A growing number of organizations that represent both Jewish survivors and former
non–Jewish forced labourers began to express their support. An internet petition
drew thousands of outraged comments from survivors, their families and other
people of good will from around the world.
Still, there was little evident movement in Berlin, and of course Berlin was key,
given Germany’s special sensitivity on Holocaust issues and the deference to that
special sensitivity that prevailed among International Commission member states.
In an animated discussion with a senior member of the German Embassy in
Washington, my German friend criticized me, on behalf of “many people,” for
using the term “Holocaust denial” in the recent German television report and in
the New York Times. I responded to my friend – and he truly is that today also – in
the following way: “Germany should have no doubt. Opening the ITS archive must
happen and is going to happen. The train is moving down the track, and gaining
speed. The only question is whether Germany is going to be on the train or on the
track.” I expressed the hope that Germany would join in making the opening a
reality. I pleaded for German Foreign Ministry support and offered to share the
credit that I believed would surely follow – even to give the entire credit to Germany.
Finally, as chancellorships changed in Germany, Germany’s ITS policy changed.
This was thanks to the direct involvement of Germany’s Minister of Justice Brigitte
Zypries, herself from the State of Hessen where ITS is located. Minister Zypries visited the Museum and was open to hearing the case made. Once convinced, she was
able as Justice Minister to address the legal obstacles that had been raised by Germany itself and was able to argue successfully for opening the archives with her
colleagues in the new cabinet of Chancellor Angela Merkel. In an act calculated to
punctuate the policy change that resulted, Minister Zypries came to Washington to
announce Germany’s support for opening the archive at a news conference at our
Museum.
That was on April 18, 2006. A month later, the annual meeting of the International Commission took place in Luxemburg. At the end of two difficult days, with a
major effort necessary to gain Red Cross consent, agreements were initialled that,
once ratified, would, at long last, open the archives of the ITS.
Some people have asked me if I saw this as a “victory”? Of a sort, I suppose. But,
not a victory to be celebrated with cheers or toasts. It was too late for many survivors
who had already passed away without the answers ITS may have held for them. Remember, it had taken eight years to get the International Commission’s promise
made in 1998 committed to paper.
If I add that following that meeting in April 2006 it took an additional 18 months
for the 11 Commission countries and the Red Cross to formally ratify the accord –
some countries had predicted it would take years, hoping, I am sorry to say, that the
process would stall out – and that the ratification process also required constant
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pressure, mobilization of members of Congress to pressure their parliamentary
counterparts abroad, and painful reminders that survivors were dying at an increasing rate, you can understand why I can only say “Of a sort, too late, and after too
much effort”.
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Contents of the Archive
So, what was this all about? What is in the ITS archive? What ultimately made the
struggle worthwhile? Let me address these questions briefly, and illustrate with some
sample documents.
There are six major categories of “historical” documentation at ITS. Category 1
consists of approximately 13.5 million concentration camp documents, transport
and deportation lists, Gestapo arrest records, and prison records. You can see entries
here for the main camps from which Arolsen holds records, but of course under
these main camps there are many various types of records and records of hundreds
of sub-camps. Category 2 includes some 8.5 million pages of forced and slave labour
documentation, revealing thousands of government, military, corporate and other
users of forced labour, how the system worked on the ground, and the consequences
of treating human beings merely as assets to be used up and discarded. Category 3,
the so-called post-war documentation, contains over 3.2 million original displaced
persons ID cards and over 450,000 DP files – often whole family files – from camps
in occupation zones in Germany and Austria, from Italy, Switzerland and the United
Kingdom, and also resettlement and emigration records on many thousands of DPs
and their families. The total document count in this category is estimated at 14.5
million pages, but it is difficult to say for sure, because three quarters of the files have
never been opened. Category 4 is the Central Name Index, or CNI, an important
tool, providing indications – sometimes quite specific, but very often not at all clear
– of where victim names appear in the massive ITS documentation. The CNI alone
contains over 40 million cards. You saw one earlier regarding Simon Wiesenthal.
Category 5, labelled here Sachdokumente, contains collections that did not fit neatly
into the other categories – Gestapo order files, cemetery records for deceased prisoners and forced labourers, analytical studies, as well as testimonies taken by American
and other liberating forces from concentration camp prisoners asked, immediately
after liberation, to describe what had happened to them in the camp, and who the
perpetrators had been. This section contains just under one million pages of material. Category 6, not shown on this chart, includes over 2.5 million post-war inquiry
and correspondence files, the so–called T/D files. These also are extremely rich
sources of both historical and genealogical information.
At the level of the individual, the ITS archive’s records can be astonishing. I am sure
you remember Micky Schwartz, Mr. Lucky, from 60 Minutes. Through a careful search
at ITS, one can understand what happened to him, that is, why he survived! Let me
show you just some of the documents in the ITS collections that relate to Mr. Schwartz.
• Document 1: Here is his prisoner card from the Buchenwald concentration camp, a
card which you saw in the 60 Minutes segment. The card notes that he is a Hungarian Jew, born June 20, 1930 – thus not quite 14 years old – who was arrested in his
home town of Makoszamoczi, near Beregszász, today’s Beregovo in Subcarpathian
Ruthenia – once part of Austria-Hungary, and part of Hungary during World War
II. The reason for his arrest was “Political – Hungarian Jew”. Schwartz was sent to
Auschwitz (noted in first column), and the middle column records him being
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
moved from Auschwitz to Buchenwald on May 24, 1944. Schwartz’s Buchenwald
prisoner number 55019 and his identifying badge (an upside-down triangle for Jew,
with U for Hungarian inside) are in the upper right. The name of his mother Donia
Schwartz, is recorded on this card. She was murdered at Auschwitz and not registered herself. This is the only place where her name was recorded.
© ITS Bad Arolsen
SWL-READER
• Document 2: This Buchenwald personal information card, filled in by hand as a
basis for creating the much neater prisoner card we just saw, adds information. It
shows that Schwartz was arrested on April 16, 1944 and sent to the transit ghetto at
Beregszász (Letzter Wohnort des Häftlings – last “residence” of the prisoner), that is
Beregovo. His religion is noted as Israelite (“izr.”). So we know from the dates that
he was in one of the first mass deportations of Hungarian Jews. In just over a month
he was moved from his home and home town to the Beregszász ghetto, to Auschwitz, and then to Buchenwald. Just imagine it! Nikolaus Schwartz was required
to sign this card, certifying its accuracy – you can see the child’s signature.
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
• Document 3: The next document says something about Nazi record-keeping. It is
Micky Schwartz’s “Personal Effects Card”, analogous to the form given to an arrested criminal when personal effects are confiscated, to be returned upon release.
Prisoners arriving from camps in the east, of course, had no personal possessions,
and you can see that Buchenwald had a rubber stamp for such prisoners, indicating
that Micky brought no personal belongings with him from Auschwitz. Again, the
14 year old was required to sign.
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
SWL-READER
• Document 4: Now the story gets more interesting. This document is the list of prisoners at Buchenwald scheduled to be sent to the labour camp at Dora on May 29,
1944. Dora was the underground complex of tunnels and caves where the Nazis
were building V2 rockets and other “super-weapons” that Hitler hoped would win
the war. Among prisoners in Buchenwald, the word was that being sent to Dora was
the equivalent of a death sentence. And indeed Dora had one of the highest mortality rates of any of the concentration camps. The list, if you look carefully, is a list of
children, all Hungarian Jewish children. Look at the birth dates. As you can see,
prisoner number 55019, Nikolaus Schwartz, was supposed to be transported with
this group of children to Dora, five days after his arrival at Buchenwald (number 11
on the list). But his name is crossed off. Why?
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
• Document 5: The answer lies in another document. Micky Schwartz’s infirmary
record, or Revierkarte. He had gotten sick during the transfer from Auschwitz. He
weighed just 35 kilograms (77 pounds), and on May 28, was sent to the Buchenwald
prisoner infirmary with a throat infection (angina lac.). He remained in the infirmary until June 17. So on May 29, Micky was not transportfähig, (capable of being
transported), to use the Nazis’ bureaucratic term. They certainly did not want him
infecting the other children. (Note that he was sick again in mid-August.)
© ITS Bad Arolsen
SWL-READER
• Document 6: So young Schwartz remained assigned to his block. Here is the Appell
(roll-call) for Block 55 on May 31, and you can see prisoner number 55019 listed
(next to last) with the notation KB/Krankenbau: he was in the prisoner clinic. But
why heal a frail 14 year old Hungarian Jewish child?
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
• Document 7: The answer was at Dora. In the waning months of the war, with fewer
adult prisoners available for work, the Nazis sent contingents of children – here,
Hungarian Jewish children – to Dora to work in the confined spaces of the tunnels,
do menial jobs, and do technical jobs, wiring, that required small hands. So here in
late November 1944, we find Nikolaus Schwartz again (top section, prisoner 55019,
2nd name in middle column), still at Buchenwald, but on a list of prisoners to be
trained as Lehrlinge (apprentices) for Dora.
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
• Document 8: Micky Schwartz, however, was never sent to Dora. In December, he
was sick again. This slip of paper shows that his tonsils were removed at the end of
the month by an SS doctor in the camp. Sick, but still alive! I will come back to this
moment.
SWL-READER
• Document 9: On March 22, 1945, we find prisoner 55019 in a labour squad at
Buchenwald main camp. Can you spot what is different about this list? The list is
mostly Russians, Ukrainians, Poles, some French – no Jews. The Hungarian children are gone, consumed. But prisoner 55019 is still there, alive (middle of row on
right, top section), Hungarian Jewish child Micky Schwartz along with the
Kozlowski’s, Frichet’s and Wasilenko’s. There are a few other boys from his barracks
there, too – Barracks 8. Remember that number. A few days after this document
was created, the Dora camp was abandoned by the retreating German forces and
the site was soon overrun. A few days after that the Buchenwald camp itself was
liberated. Is this the end of the saga of Mickey Schwartz? Not quite! I frequently
asked myself as I told this story, “How did he survive after the infirmary in December? Just luck?” That seemed unlikely. Remember this was Buchenwald in the waning days of the war, and prisoners were dying in massive numbers inside the camp
and in labour brigades outside the camp. Then a few months ago, a speaker at our
Museum told the story of a coordinated effort, in the early months of 1945, by a
group of German communist prisoners at Buchenwald to save the last groups of
Jewish children who were still being brought to the camp. They had worked their
way into the camp administration – after all they could understand German-style
bureaucracy better than the Frichets, Kozlowski’s or Wasilenkos. And, lo and behold, among the materials the speaker brought to the Museum were photographs
that showed Micky Schwartz among those children. Few children who had arrived
as early as Micky survived long enough to benefit from this last-moment effort of
rescue, but Schwartz had survived, and it seems he owes the fact that he stayed in
the camp during those last months, where his chances of survival were greater than
on a work detail outside the camp, to the effort of those German communist prisoners. Most of the new arrival children that the Communist group saved were assigned – by them – to barrack number 66. Mickey was not assigned there; he had a
longer record in the camp’s bureaucratic machinery. But he survived. Here are
some of the photos. And here is reference to Barracks 8 …
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
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© ITS Bad Arolsen
• Document 9/10: On May 2, Micky Schwartz, still identified by his prisoner number
55019, appeared before a panel of Allied officers, signed his name again, this time
on a form of the Allied Military Government of Germany, stated that the reason he
was in the camp was, simply, “Jew,” and that he had been in Auschwitz before
Buchenwald. The panel of officers determined that he should be released. Three
days later he was free (Final Document: Order for Disposal of Inmates), but still
identified as number 55019. He was a month shy of his 15th birthday.
The millions of pages of ITS documentation open a window on the daily fate of
millions of people who were targeted by the Nazis and their allies. We see here not
grand strategy, as history is so often written, but the grinding routine of man’s inhumanity to man, of prisoners’ efforts to survive one more day, of perpetrator calculations of how to reap the most benefit from the disposable human assets consigned to
their control.
Let me tell you very briefly another story. Haim Vidal-Sephiha is a survivor of
Auschwitz. From a family of Turkish Jews which had immigrated to Belgium after
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SWL-READER
World War I, Haim was separated from his father and brother at the Mechelen transit camp outside Brussels because they had retained their Turkish citizenship, while
he had become a Belgian citizen. The Nazis did not send the citizens of neutral Turkey to death camps, but “Belgian” Jews, like Haim, went straight from Mechelen to
Auschwitz. Haim’s father and brother were sent instead to Buchenwald, and at war’s
end, Haim learned that his father had perished there. But he never knew when or
under what circumstances. Without giving you all of the detail, let me show you his
father’s prisoner card, death and burial records from ITS. Here is his Buchenwald
prisoner card, with the only photo that the family has had since the war of Haim’s
father. (The prisoner card of Haim’s brother is also among the records.) But here is a
surprise – a death certificate from Dachau, with the date of death clearly recorded as
May 19, 1945. Thus, Haim’s father had been moved from Buchenwald to Dachau by
the Germans, but had survived the liberation of Dachau, only to die a few days later
of pulmonary enteritis. Because he died in American hands, the date was recorded,
and here we see a slip of paper recording the specific cemetery plot where he was
buried. So please, consider what we are looking at here – 85-year-old Haim Sephiha
might have known the yahrzeit – date of death – of his father and said kaddish for
him – and visited his grave. He is a man who was deprived of that by eleven governments and the ICRC for more than half a century, because they felt the material in
this particular archive should not be seen. Could Sephiha have asked for information? In theory, yes. He might have been number 400.001 in the queue if he had
asked. But did he know there was such a possibility? No. And that, too, speaks to the
problem. The issues that swirl around ITS are more than just historical and political.
They are issues of compassion, ethics, fundamental values.
Beyond individual fates, the ITS collections offer important new insights into the
workings of Nazi regime. Long described as just “lists of names”, we now have a list of
ITS collections that runs to over 21,000 entries, and even that list we know is not
complete. Some of the document collections are massive: 111,440 prisoner registration documents from the main card file of the Ravensbrück women’s camp, for example; or 101,063 Gestapo arrest records from the city of Koblenz. Others are tiny,
but poignant, like the two lists just a few pages long sent to ITS after the war by a
former Jewish prisoner at Brunnlitz, today’s Brněnec in the Czech Republic – one of
Oskar Schindler’s Jews. He was forced to record the arrival first of the 700 men, and
later of the 300 women that Schindler saved during the Holocaust. In his letter from
the 1950s, the former prisoner pointed out his own name on the list of men and explained that he kept a copy of the lists, despite the risk, because he knew that losing
track of someone on the list would mean death. The risk of keeping the list, he reasoned, was less than the risk of not keeping it.
The post-war documentation is unprecedented. The displaced persons folders
contain countless immediate post-war testimonies – responses to questions asked by
Allied authorities – in which what had happened to people who survived, and what
they knew about relatives and friends who they feared did not, are recorded. Jewish
Holocaust survivors often poured out their hearts in lengthy statements of what they
had endured.
Non-Jewish survivors of Nazi brutality, like Ilya Adjanov, a Soviet Kalmuk, a skilled
construction engineer with a Russian wife and five children, are also there. Adjanov’s
fate was sealed by his face and race, which, as you can see, was judged to exclude him
from immigration to “the Anglo-Saxon countries” and he agonized over where the
family might find a place to resettle and start again. Racial discrimination did not end
with the fall of the Nazi regime and was not the exclusive domain of the Germans.
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The files also contain the stories of perpetrators of varying nationalities, who
abused the system to gain DP status, and thus escape Europe and potential prosecution for their crimes. How did some of the most objectionable perpetrators of the
Holocaust come to my country, the United States? Part of the answer lies in the records at ITS. Here is the man to whom I referred earlier – the man whose case I
worked on at the same time Simon Wiesenthal was pursuing him. This is a picture of
Viorel Trifa, who unleashed the Iron Guard Pogrom of Bucharest in Romania in
January 1941. Trifa spent the war years in Germany under the protection of the SS.
After the war, with support from the Catholic Church, he presented himself to Allied
authorities as a concentration camp prisoner. He gained DP status, came to the United States, rose to become the Romanian Orthodox Archbishop of our country, and
even delivered the opening prayer in the United States Senate. He was denaturalized
and deported by the Justice Department, at great expense, only in old age, over 30
years later.
There is also a file for John Demjanjuk at ITS, in which he declared in 1945 that
from 1942 to 1943 he was driving a truck in Poland – at Chelmno and at Sobibor.
Had knowledgeable people been able to look at his file, had this archive been accessible, Demjanjuk’s post-war fate might have been different. He was granted the privilege of coming to America. The United States is still wrestling with his case today.
The post-war records at ITS show in dramatic fashion how Allied authorities dealt
with the post-genocidal situation they inherited with victory – both the successes
and the failures of policy in unprecedented circumstances. In a world still plagued by
genocide after genocide, there is much we can learn at Bad Arolsen.
SWL-READER
Status Report on the Archives
Let me turn briefly to an up-to-the-minute status report.
Between May 2006 and November 2007, all of the International Commission
countries completed their approval and ratification procedures for the agreements,
the last two being France in October 2007 and Greece in November 2007. Since then,
over 80 million digital copies of the incarceration, forced labour, name index and DP
card file documents have been transferred to our Museum, to Yad Vashem and to the
Polish Institute of National Remembrance. Another 40-50 million pages will come
over the next two years.
The receiving institutions have a lot of work to do to make this massive documentation truly accessible. Because there was never an intention to open the documentation, it was not organized in standard archival fashion, there are no archival catalogues in the traditional sense. The digital copying of the documentation, which was
started for preservation not research purposes, has not been done in a way that
makes it easy to locate or retrieve documents. Nevertheless, we are making progress.
In the summer of 2007, following the firing of the long-time Director of ITS, our
Museum was finally able to obtain an inventory of the over 21,000 separate collections of material that make up the ITS archives. We translated the inventory into
English and posted a searchable version of it in German and English on the Museum’s web site. The list has serious limitations – descriptions are inadequate, the massive displaced persons and post-war inquiry files are barely mentioned – but it is the
best tool that exists today through which survivors and researchers can make at least
preliminary judgments about what may be in the ITS collections that is of interest to
them.
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Eventually, we hope to have software that will make it possible to call up all of the
documents in a collection and page through them through a link from the collection
description in the inventory. But there is an immense amount of work to be done
before that will be possible.
In terms of searches for individual names, the news is both good and bad. While
the documents at ITS are in the process of being digitally copied, they are not digitally searchable or Google-able. Because copies were made initially for preservation
purposes, not research purposes, data basing the contents was never part of the ITS
plan. For name search purposes, the path into the collections is the Central Name
Index to which I referred earlier. Use of this very imperfect tool requires painstaking
effort. In February of this year, our Museum began to respond to inquiries from survivors and their families regarding documentation on their families. Some 7,000
requests have been received thus far, and they are being responded to in about eight
to twelve weeks in most cases. If we already have the documents relating to an inquiry, we are providing the inquirers with copies of the documents. ITS is now doing
the same – after more than six decades.
SWL-READER
Scholarship
Let me turn, finally, to a few comments about the scholarly importance of the ITS
archives. Scholarly exploration of these miles of archives – there are over 16 miles of
records there – will definitely enrich our understanding of the Holocaust as the
defining event of the 20th century. The ITS archives are tremendously diverse. Real
exploration of the collections by trained scholars is just beginning.
Last summer, our Museum and ITS’s new management co-sponsored a research
workshops for scholars, in Bad Arolsen. The 18 scholars from seven countries who participated were divided into four teams and given free rein to explore the major components of the collections. They outlined dozens of major new research projects that
would be possible in the archives. Let me share with you just a few of their conclusions.
First, our online inventory of 21,397 collections is incomplete. Some of the participants explored the basements and the attics of the buildings, and found collections that are not mentioned at all in the inventory. They discovered also that in the
inventory the size of a collection often was recorded as only as the size of the top file
in the collection – so what appears in the inventory as a collection of 300 pages might
in reality be a collection of ten files of 300 pages each, or 3,000 pages. This finding is
perhaps not so surprising. Until a few months ago, ITS had never had a trained archivist or trained historian on the staff.
The group that examined the Inhaftierung (Incarceration) collections emphasized
the significance of the fact that the collections covered the entire period from the
spring of 1933 to the spring of 1945, that is, the entire period of Nazi rule. Extending
this point, it is significant that the ITS collections in fact span the entire period from
the Nazi rise to power in Germany through the entire displaced person and resettlement era, to the closing of the last DP camp. Few, if any, other repositories can boast
similar chronological coverage of the system of perpetration and its human consequences. The scholars said the material would allow, for the first time, the creation of
well-documented social histories of some of the camps and open new understanding
of prisoner categorization practices as a control technique.
The group that explored the forced labour records found directives of all sorts,
labour detail assignments, social insurance records, marriage and birth records of
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forced labourers, infirmary records, company records – thousands of companies according to their quick sweep through the material – with forced labour being used
everywhere and by everyone – firms, government, farmers, churches … everyone.
The group produced a list of over 25 categories of forced labourers and suggested a
study of fluidity inside the labour system, as labourers moved or were moved from
one category to another, with fewer or greater privileges or risks, according to a variety of factors. The group also noted remarkable cases in which forced labourer
complaints about abusive users of forced labour resulted in detailed investigations of
the users by the SS.
The group that worked in the displaced persons and resettlement material was
“overwhelmed” by the research possibilities. They found records on 2,500 camps for
survivors, including camps that operated for a time in what became the Soviet zone
of Germany, and massive information about the stages through which DP’s passed
on the path from prisoner to a future, from “inhumanity to rehabilitation”. The significance of the records reached far beyond the Holocaust, they asserted, to the
broadest European and global impact of the waves of people who moved through the
camps and on to somewhere else. They noted the potential to add to our understanding of the abuse of the DP system by war criminals and by those who assisted them
after the war.
The group that worked in the post-war inquiry files stressed the potential in that
material for interdisciplinary studies and the study of post-Holocaust emigration
and resettlement patterns, a kind of post-Holocaust geography of the victim survivors, perpetrators, and people displaced for other reasons.
The scholars recommended, in particular, a study of behaviours in the “chronological grey zone” from late 1943 to 1948, when perpetrators, victims, victim families, users of forced labour, bystanders, and then DPs, allied authorities, and potentially implicated perpetrators all lived in a situation of changing prospects and perspectives, and great uncertainty.
As we move from an era when survivors and eyewitnesses have served as the voices of memory to an era when their voices will be absent, the ITS collections also offer
an insurance policy against forgetting and unique opportunities to explore the content and geography of memory.
SWL-READER
Conclusions
This, then, brings me full circle. Having been moved to press for the opening of ITS
in order to make its documents available to Holocaust survivors whose pleas had been
denied for way too long, I can report that this has been accomplished. I do not want to
underestimate the challenges the ITS materials present. They are substantial – in
terms of organization, access, and use – and matched only by the incredible potential
these collections have to enhance memory, knowledge, education and understanding.
What is the significance of the ITS story? I see it on many levels.
First there is a moral imperative. We have a moral obligation to the survivor generation to respond to their concerns and to provide individual and family information to them.
Second, the memorial significance of a set of records that identifies at least 17.5
million human beings who were victims of the Nazis and their allies does not require
further explanation. These records give the victims identity as individual human beings, not just statistics.
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Third, the scholarly significance of the material is very substantial.
Fourth, in the face of rising Holocaust denial, the tens of millions of pages of
irrefutably authentic evidence in the ITS collections will serve as a potent weapon
against deniers, trivializers, and relativizers, especially when we no longer have survivors among us to serve as eloquent witnesses to what happened.
Fifth, the struggle required to open the ITS archives, in the face of their obvious
moral, memorial and scholarly significance, has meaning of its own. It serves as a
reminder, a warning to all of us of the ability even of good governments to disregard
or fail to pay sufficient attention to the interests and concerns of people who are
deemed to be powerless. Who, after all, could appear more powerless than the displaced survivors of a genocide?
Sixth, these archives remind us of the monumental and long-lasting consequences of failing to act to stop genocide. We live in a world of recurrent genocidal crises.
ITS has contemporary relevance of critical importance.
I should also note here, in closing, that while I have criticized the approach of the
United States government more than others in these remarks, it is only because I
believe that an American has particular standing to criticize American behaviour. I
would be much sharper, and the tale would be much more shocking, if it were my
place to relate the attitudes and behaviour of some of the other governments involved
or of the ICRC. Their lack of interest was in general much worse.
One final note, seventh. The ITS archives send a powerful message and a strong
warning about the dangers of resurgent antisemitism. The Nazi regime set out to
target Jews. But once ethnic and religious hatred was unleashed by enshrining antisemitism as government policy, the suffering was not limited to Jews. More than half
of the documents in the ITS archives deal with non-Jews. ITS thus makes one thing
abundantly clear: While antisemitism is definitely bad for Jews, it is extremely dangerous for non-Jews as well. That is a lesson the world has a particular need to understand today.
I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to speak here this evening. Thank you
very much for your attention. I will be happy to respond to any questions you may
have.
23
Quotation: Paul A. Shapiro, Paul A.: Opening the Archives of the ITS. How Did it Happen?
What does it Mean?, in: S:I.M.O.N. – Shoah: Intervention. Methods. Documentation.
18 December 2008
http://simon.vwi.ac.at/index.php/swl-reader/74-opening-the-archives-of-the-its-how-did-it-happenwhat-does-it-mean
S:I.M.O.N.– Shoah: Intervention. Methods. DocumentatiON.
ISSN 2408-9192
SWL-Reader – Reader der Simon Wiesenthal Lectures
Editors: Éva Kovács / Béla Rásky / Philipp Rohrbach
Copy Editor: Jana Starek
Graphics: Hans Ljung
S:I.M.O.N. is the occasional bilingual e-journal of the Vienna Wiesenthal Institute for
Holocaust Studies (VWI)
© by the Vienna Wiesenthal Institute for Holocaust Studies (VWI), S:I.M.O.N., the authors, and
translators, all rights reserved. This work may be copied and redistributed for non-commercial,
educational purposes, if permission is granted by the author(s) and usage right holders.
For permission please contact [email protected]

Opening the Archives of the International Tracing Service (ITS)

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